


Tea and Sympathy

by TempuraSteel



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Caretaking, Fluffy Domestic Nonsense, Gladio isn't buying it, Hurt/Comfort, Ignis is a stubborn idiot, M/M, Sickfic, Someone make that man some tea!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-25 19:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13841685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempuraSteel/pseuds/TempuraSteel
Summary: Ignis blames his sudden onslaught of symptoms on a spicy dish.  Gladio isn't convinced.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I love writing domestic sickfic nonsense. I can't help myself! This is the reverse of "Swords and Snow Don't Mix."

Ignis whisks the curry paste into the coconut milk with practiced ease until the mixture is of a perfect consistency and color. Ah, yes. Very good. Now for the chicken. Setting the coconut milk aside to simmer, he tends to the meat, sliced at just the right angle and marinated in a fiery mix of spices. As the chicken makes contact with the pan, it sizzles just enough to begin a sear without turning into something blackened and Ignis adjusts his glasses to examine the result. Yes, a nice crispy edge.

He presses a knuckle to one side of his nose with a sniffle. Had he used such an overabundance of cayenne? Surely not. His refined palate would not allow for such an error.  He barely manages to raise a hand to deflect a sharp sneeze before stepping away from the pan with a blink. _Great gods_. Had he concocted some horrid recipe for pepper gas rather than seared chicken?

He snatches a paper towel from the roll upon the counter, a most unfortunate and rough choice for smothering a second sneeze, but far better than nothing at all. After giving his nose a bit of ginger dabbing, he tosses the paper towel into the bin beneath the counter, gives his hands a quick wash, and returns to tending to the ominously sizzling chicken just in time to flip the pieces over for a proper browning.

Hands slip over the curve of his hips and the soft bristle of a familiar edging of facial hair grazes the edge of his ear.

"You alright there, Iggy?"

His fingers grapple with the tongs for a moment, nearly sending them tumbling into the dish.

"Gladio." He nudges the chicken towards the center of the pan before setting the utensils aside. "I did not even hear you enter the room."

"Because I'm that good."

Ignis prepares to deliver an affectionate retort, but not before he pauses and half-manages to cup a hand over his mouth to deflect yet another sneeze. " My goodness. Do excuse me."

"Damn, Iggy. Bless you," Gladio says, amusement mixed with the slightest hint of concern warming his tone.

"Thank you," Ignis says with a sniffle. "Would you mind terribly handing me a---"

A fresh square of white dangles before his face, not a paper towel, but a neatly folded handkerchief. "Got it covered."

Where in the world had Gladio procured such a thing? Ignis does not ask questions, but chooses instead to take the proffered cloth, wiping beneath his eyes and dabbing at the corner of his nose.

"I hadn't any idea that you carried a handkerchief," Ignis says.

Gladio's voice is a deep thrum of sound from behind him. "I don't. That's yours." He taps the sides of Ignis's pants with one hand. "Took it out without you noticing."

"Hmn, clever pickpocket, aren't you?" Ignis says.

A hand slides over his stomach, drawing him close. "I've got a lot of talents."

Oh, Ignis is well aware. After taking a moment to reduce the heat on the still-sizzling chicken, he turns in Gladio's embrace to face him. The ever-present black tank top does little to hide the chiseled lines of his lover's body, but it is the sight of his face that sends Ignis's breath into a the slightest of catches. With the topmost portion of his shoulder-length hair pulled away into a short ponytail, the clean architecture of his stubble-roughened jaw is a hard contrast to the softness of his mouth, lips curving into a crooked smile as Ignis traces a finger down the blade of one cheek.

Gladio tips his head to one side, amber eyes softening. "What?"

"I swear that you grow more attractive with each passing day," Ignis says.

"Tch, speak for yourself." Gladio bends his head with the intent to capture Ignis's mouth with his own, hovering just before his mouth the promise of kiss, but not quite delivering until Ignis rises to the tips of his toes to seal their lips in a passionate press.

"You really are the devil himself, you realize."

Gladio chuckles. "Yeah?" He dips his head, runs his tongue along the shell of Ignis's ear. "Guess that makes you a first-class sinner then."

"Do you wish for me to burn your dinner or not?" Ignis taps the spatula upon the edge of the counter and Gladio relents with a smirk.

"Don't care," Gladio says. "I'd eat it anyway."

"Yes, well, I fear that I might have used a bit too much pepper for my liking," Ignis says. "I'm quite surprised you can stand beside me without noticing the effects."

Gladio tilts his head, hair sliding over one shoulder. "Hmn, I didn't smell anything." He levels his stare at Ignis with a furrowing of brow."You sure you're not catching a cold or somethin'?"

"Nonsense," Ignis says.

But Gladio does not look at all convinced, especially in the wake of Ignis's continual albeit erratic sniffling. Well, the other man had best discard such a notion. Ignis adjusts his spectacles for a moment before contending with the curry, leaving the dish to simmer until Gladio has returned from the bathroom freshly showered. And shirtless. Of course. Given the tight nature of those accursed boxer briefs, his beloved might as well be wearing nothing at all.

"This will require about an hour or so to finish," Ignis says, nodding towards the stove. "I do hope you're not starving."

"I'll live," Gladio says. "I got those books you were talking about, by the way."

Ignis clears his throat to constrain the sudden urge to cough and swallows before answering. "Did you?"

"Yeah." Gladio points to the coffee table. "I put them over there, if you wanna check them out before dinner."

"I would very much like that, yes." The tickle in his throat rises to an unbearable level and he coughs into his sleeve, a far chestier endeavor than he would have liked.

_Gods, what in all of Eos . . ._

Was it hay fever? Surely not. Far too late in the season for such nonsense. With winter closing in, the possibilities were few and far between, aside from actual illness. Which it most certainly was not.

"Mmmn, Iggy." Gladio tilts his head, dark hair sliding over his shoulder. "You sure you're feelin' alright?"

" _Yes,_ Gladio," Ignis says a bit more sharply than he intends. "It was the accursed pepper, I tell you."

"Uh huh." Gladio crosses his arms over his chest. "Well, I gotta find some pants. You know it's cold as shit in here, right?"

"Is it?" Ignis could have sworn the temperature was near boiling.

"Uh, yeah." Gladio shakes his head. "Be back in a sec."

Perhaps he had spent far too long in front of the stove for one evening. Surely that must be it.

(TBC . . . .)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis finds it quite a bit harder to hide the fact that he's coming down with something. Gladio to the rescue . . . after a bit of snark, of course.

Dinner is far less eventful for Ignis's sinuses and the advisor is grateful, despite Gladio's constant stare. Gods, it is as if the man is peering into his soul, judging his every move with the most intent of calculations. Most unnerving, to say the least.

If it is some manner of burgeoning illness, perhaps he can sleep it off without causing concern to his partner. Or perhaps, his body will insist upon betraying him at every breath.

Ignis pinches the space between his eyes before fitting a hand beneath his nose to half-suppress a sharp, unexpected sneeze. The second is not so cooperative, escaping without any manner of quelling at all, despite his best effort to convince it otherwise.

"Do excuse me," he murmurs with a sniffle.

Gladio turns the page in his book without glancing up. "That's the third time you've done that since dinner."

"Not true," Ignis says. "That was two, not three."

"Third _time,_ not third sneeze," Gladio says. He flicks his gaze over the edge of the book for a brief, fixated stare. "And you knew what I meant."

"I . . . _hhiih--hih . .!_ " Ignis struggles through a hitch of breath that culminates in nothing more than a sigh of frustration.

The other man closes his book and lays it upon his lap but says nothing, choosing instead to give Ignis a patented stare down. As if he is waiting for something to be admitted. _Hmph, well._

Ignis wipes a finger beneath one eye, subverting the fit of his glasses for a moment. "Don't give me that look, Gladio." Gladio levels his stare at the other man and Ignis frowns.

"What look?" Gladio folds his arms across his chest. "Oh, you mean _this_ look? The one that says you're full of shit? Well, I'll stop with the look if you stop acting like I'm stupid."

"Now, see here. I said no such thi---"

Again with the blasted sneezing, unexpected as it were yet again, and terribly inconvenient to boot. The creases in Gladio's brow deepen in severity and Ignis sighs against his still-curled hand before pulling the handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at the corner of his nose. "Hmm, perhaps I might have trifle of a cold."

_"Might?"_

Gods, the word is almost a threat.

"Do," Ignis relents.

The other man crooks the fingers of his hand in Ignis's direction and the advisor hesitates for a moment before edging closer, relegating the sheets to the opposite end of the bed. A hand closes over his upper arm, pulls him against the broad, bare chest and curls around his slighter shoulders. Gladio is blessedly warm, his skin radiating a familiar, comforting heat and Ignis relaxes into the embrace with a wordless noise of contentment.

"This is getting good," Gladio says as plucks the book from his thigh with his free hand.

"Is it?" Ignis murmurs against his chest.

"Real good." A hand rubs his shoulder in an absent gesture of affection.

"Which part are you reading?" Ignis asks.

Gladio turns a page with his thumb. _"They cried with one voice as they ran toward me: 'Wait, oh wait, for by your dress you seem a voyager from our own tainted country._  
_Ah! What wounds I saw, some new, some old, branded upon their bodies! Even now the pain of it in memory turns me cold.' "_

The rumble of Gladio's voice beneath his ear is a soothing vibration, the rhythmic meter of the verse lulling and precise. This man, this brutish, tattooed fiend with his charming demeanor and sometimes volatile nature reads literature such as this with grace and a depth of understanding that could rival his own.

Ignis splays a hand over the Gladio's stomach and cinches himself closer. "Please, go on."

Gladio resumes his reading, the hand that rests upon Ignis's shoulder rubbing small circles just beneath the sleeve of his night shirt. He does not notice when Gladio pauses to set the book down and remove his glasses, nor does he notice when the sheets are pulled tight around his shoulders and the light extinguished.

 

_________________________________

 

The sun has already risen beyond the usual position when Ignis manages to rouse himself from the depths of an unexpected, deep slumber. By now, Gladio would have awakened to go for his morning run or perhaps simply train in the living room beside the bay window, but the other man still lies beside him, the warmth of his body a welcoming draw to Ignis's chilled skin.

He pushes the cocoon of blankets aside, intent on curling himself closer to Gladio's chest, but not before a sudden, sharp prickle in his sinuses assails him into stiff expectation. He buries his face in the pillow, muffling a harsh sneeze into the fabric with a clench of shoulders. A soft groan escapes him and a familiar hand slides over his hip, cupping the small of his back and drawing him close.

"Sorry to wake you," he murmurs against Gladio's chest.

"S'okay." The hand slides up his spine with a gentle rub. "Wasn't really sleeping."

Ignis had assumed as much. Like himself, Gladio rose with the sun, albeit a bit more slowly. Some degree of coaxing was occasionally required, although Gladio's morning "warm up" had undergone a most curious change . . . one that Ignis could most certainly appreciate. The man did have quite the voracious appetite for all things carnal.

He claps his hand over his mouth a moment too late to smother another sneeze and huffs a sigh. "Excuse me."

"Damn, Iggy." Gladio draws him into a tight embrace. Nuzzles his ear. "Bless you."

"Thank you, Gladio." Ignis splays his fingers over the bare skin of the other man's chest. "I do hope I did not catch you in the crossfire of that nonsense."

"Nah." Gladio plants a kiss atop his forehead. "Wouldn't matter if you did. I've had worse."

Ignis suppresses another sigh and resists the urge to shiver, choosing instead to curl as close to Gladio's body as he can manage without climbing atop him. "Not going for a run, then?"

"Not today," he says. "Got a sick boyfriend to take care of."

Heat suffuses Ignis's skin despite his body's insistence that everything is far too cold for his liking. "You needn't alter your fitness regimen for me."

"Shut up, Iggy." Gladio's voice is a gentle rumble beneath his ear. "You sound like shit, anyway."

The words are light, even teasing, but the concern that edges them is the more pronounced nuance. Ignis settles himself more comfortably against Gladio's chest and the other man shifts to accommodate him, sacrificing half of his blankets in the process.

"Do I really sound so wretched?" Ignis asks.

A hand squeezes his shoulder. "Like some fucked up high-brow cold commercial."

"How very irritating," Ignis groans and Gladio chuckles. He trails a hand over Gladio's side with an absent rub of fingers. "Perhaps you shouldn't lie here with me like this. I fear that I am most certainly contagious."

"Whatever." Gladio says with a shrug. "I think I can handle it."

Not if the other man knew the extent of Ignis's discomfort. His head feels as if it is stuffed with congealed cotton, the back of his throat a raw patch of barbs. And of course, the near constant tickle that migrates from his throat to his sinuses and back again. His blasted body cannot seem to decide if it wishes to cough or sneeze and settles on some horrid combination betwixt the two that he manages to contain within the crook of his elbow.

"Excuse me," he mumbles.

Gladio arches an eyebrow. "What the hell was that?"

"A respiratory farce," Ignis says.

The shift of his body brushes both the top of his sleep shirt and the blankets against his shoulders and a soft sound of discomfort escapes him. Skin-to-skin contact would be preferable to the feel of material abrading his flesh, but he cannot be bothered to remove it, not with the warmth of Gladio's body finally managing to penetrate the internal chill that threatens to rend him a shivering mess.

"You need anything?" Gladio's voice near his ear. "Coffee? Tea? Some shit like that?"

"No. Thank you." Ignis rests his head upon Gladio's chest, curls himself closer. "If you would simply continue to lie beside me . . . "

"Okay, Iggy." A hand plants itself between his shoulders. "You just get some rest."

"I do not understand how I've managed to be this tired when I have yet to rise," Ignis murmurs.

"Fever will do it to ya," Gladio says. "And you've got a pretty good one going."

"Do I?" Ignis rubs at the tip of his nose with the back of his wrist. Goodness, he could certainly use a---

Fingers push a square of cotton into his palm and Ignis blinks before flinching into a throat-scarping sneeze, which doesn't quite make it into the folds of the handkerchief. His breathing hitches into a high, congested gasp and he clamps the cloth over his mouth to muffle a second.

A hand squeezes his shoulder. "Bless you."

"Thank you, love," Ignis says with a sniffle. "Gods, I'm quite the undignified mess, aren't I?"

"Nah." Gladio brushes a lock of lank hair away from his forehead. "You're kinda cute, actually. All feverish and helpless and shit. I mean, that's not really my thing, but---"

"Ugh, _Gladio,_ " Ignis groans.

"Kidding," Gladio says. "Sort of."


End file.
